She always sat on the back of that ugly beat up car, a rusted box, drinking her beer. I passed her every evening, coming home. She was usually barefoot, her jeans tattered at the bottom. Some days she smoked as she drank, other times it was just the beer, watching the few cars that passed her on that backroad. I knew her name, hell, every guy in town knew her. We had all loved her in school, wanted her. She was Homecoming queen, Prom queen, student this, that. She had smiled, waved as expected when she won, but there was something behind that smile that seemed gone, hollow. I had pictured her in my mind many times, her cheerleaders outfit being pushed up by me, not that asshole jock she married. My hands had played across her tan skin, lips kissing hers, hands fumbling into her panties. I usually came at that image, drifting to sleep with sticky fingers.
Now she lived down a quiet stretch from me, married to Mr. Asshole, still beautiful, but sad looking too. Every day she was th...
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